Dreams
by Ros3bud009
Summary: Often dreams are simply random assortments of the elements stored in a person's brain. Sometimes we wish they were more. Sometimes we get more. Often times we regret it. One-sided Sweden/Finland


Dreams were, Sweden decided, perhaps the most random assortment of feelings, desires, and faces possible. Not in that said parts of the dreams were pulled out of thin air; no, they all were genuine parts of his life. The feelings were his own, as were the desires, no matter how embarrassing they were, and all the faces more often than not belonged to people he knew in his life. They were sometimes altered, sometimes twisted and distorted. But in the end they were all pieces of his life.

The problem laid in how his dreams pieced them together.

Most of the time it didn't really matter much to him. There was once the dream where he was arguing about breaking free and becoming independent, but instead of Denmark, little Sealand glared back at him, and they were in the middle of Russia's party, celebrating his independence from Spain. Certainly it hadn't made much sense, but it didn't harm anyone either. The odd assortment that his dreams came up with did little to bother Sweden, and when he would awake, the worse that would happen is he would ponder the oddness for a minute.

_It seemed very normal really; just a day-to-day situation. He was talking with some of the other nations, about some outrageous topic that, at the moment, seemed to make more than enough sense. All of them were gathered around in his house, with Sealand bouncing about and starting up an argument with England, Denmark showing off in front of an uninterested Norway, and Ukraine trapped between her desire to calm down England and to make Belarus stop following her beloved brother about the house. _

There was one sort of dream though that, quite frankly, both disgusted and befuddled the nation with its randomized nature. These dreams all dealt with a single desire, one which he knew everyone had to deal with.

Lust.

Sweden knew these sorts of dreams weren't something new and special. Everyone who had any sort of a sex drive would, at some time or another, have sexual dreams. It was normal. No, it wasn't the sensual aspect of the dreams that necessarily bothered him, though it would bring a red tint of embarrassment to his cheeks.

To be frank, Sweden had had dream sex with practically every nation of the world in his dreams. It wasn't that he had them all that often. It was simply that, given how long he had lived, his mind had had more than enough time to lazily make its way through the file of faces he knew. And there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to how the faces were chosen. Certainly they weren't picked by any measure of actual desire he had for the person.

With a growl of disgust, Sweden put a hand over his eyes as the morning light peeked through the window at him. Why he had just awoken from dreaming about a romantic evening with Russia was beyond him, and beyond what his stomach could handle as it turned unpleasantly. Sweden couldn't even comprehend how his mind would even consider putting that man's face in such a scene.

_France was teasing him about something, though what seemed to escape Sweden. Words came to his mouth, and he only understood what they were talking about when they finally came out. Yes, of course, the two of them were doing fine, and it wasn't France's business how well. Denmark joined in, laughing, and preceded to tell France about how loud they had been the day before. Sweden was about to slug him when he was interrupted._

"Sweden?" Finland asked worriedly from the doorway. Slowly the man lifted his palm from his face and glanced at the other nation. His adorable face was twisted into one of concern, and Sweden could feel practically his whole body react with a single word: cute. Oh how the other nation was cute. Sweden just wanted to jump up from the bed and pull Finland close, to hold him, to bury his face in that soft hair, to stroke his back, to kiss his forehead, his cheek, his mouth—

"M'fine. Jus' a dream," he mumbled, cutting his train of thought short. Finland nodded and, as most nations, did not inquire further; dreams were a touchy subject for their kind. The young man turned away from Sweden and continued down the hall, before stopping and peering in.

"Breakfast will be done soon. I made your favorite, so hurry and dress!" Faced with a smile as bright as the sun reflecting off new snow, it was all that Sweden could do to nod. As the smaller nation continued on his merry way, Sweden's shoulders slumped forward and his head fell into his hands. What was wrong with him? Every time he woke up from such a dream he asked himself the same thing, and every time was left clueless.

Why did other people dream about those they loved, while he dreamed about making love with every nation in the world except the one he really wanted to make love to but never could?

_Finland smiled at him from the doorway, shaking his head amusedly as he walked up. He said something about not worrying about it, but while he heard the words, it just didn't seem to sink in. That smile on the other's face took far too much of his attention for him to be able to comprehend._

Wasn't the whole purpose of dreams to experience what a person wants in lieu of the reality of their life?

_The earlier conversation faded into the background as Sweden felt his heart swell with an emotion he felt like he had always known. As Finland came to stand close to his side, even when it was just the brush of their shoulders, he felt it._

For the rest of the day, as he laid his head to rest, and with every second that passed before his mind faded into the depths of sleep, he gave his well rehearsed wish.

_The small nation's fingers intertwined with his and the fit was perfect, as if the two hands had been created for each other. It wasn't much. As they talked and conversed with the other nations, they did nothing more. Sweden never even felt the other's body in his embrace, or knew the softness of his lips, or helped himself to his sweet taste. But he didn't need that, not then. How could he when he had this?_

Sweden begged anyone who would listen to his pleas to let him dream about his beloved Finland. Just once, he wanted to know what it would be like, no matter how detached from reality it was. If he had no hopes of experiencing it in his own life, he wanted to taste it in the surreal realm of imagination.

_Sweden didn't need anything more than that hand because his whole body was filled with the joy of their reality. They were together; they had been for so long, and yet it still made his head spin._

Just once he wanted Finland's love.

_ Nothing felt as good as to know Finland and he were in love._

With the usual slowness, Sweden's consciousness came back to him. He blinked his eyes, the clockworks of his mind started to whirl, and he felt as if his world had been turned on its head.

It made him more nauseous than any previous dream ever had.

In a desire to keep himself from vomiting he rose from bed and started for the kitchen. It felt like his heart was dropping pieces of its broken self with every step he made. The pain was so great that he wouldn't have been surprised if he turned to see a trail of blood following behind him. He decided not to look.

Whatever remained shattered when he saw Finland glance at him from the stove.

"Sweden? You look ill," Finland said, putting the pan down and moving towards the taller nation. As he approached him he put out his hand as if to check his temperature. Sweden found himself flinching, and assumed the throbbing in his chest must have translated to a darkening of his expression as Finland stopped before reaching him.

"M'fine," he stated, swallowing hard and turning away from his companion. It made his chest hurt all the worse. Sweden sat at the table, and he knew the other nation was worried, but what could he tell him? That he had wanted for centuries to finally dream about the two of them? That he finally had and it was more than he could have ever hoped for? That for that moment of unreality he felt happier than he had for all the centuries he had wished for it, and wanted nothing more than to feel that joy for the rest of his life? To feel that heat in his heart and feel it grow so much that it pushed against his ribs?

How could he possibly tell Finland that as soon as reality settled into his mind again that he knew what a disaster the dream was? That his chest felt as if it had been smashed to pieces, his stomach had eaten itself away, and he had had to work so hard to keep his tear ducts from releasing hundreds of years' worth of unrequited love and fear and desperation and cowardice?

With the loss of one fake moment of perfect bliss, Sweden felt his whole world coming apart.

Sweden wanted to beat his fist down on the table, to grab the glass in front of him and throw it against the wall, to scream and shout and cry, cursing the inner workings of the universe for their cruel trick.

More than that, he wanted to slam his head against the wall, yelling and berating himself for having asked for such a thing.

"Sweden?" Salt in the bleeding wound of a man with no hope of returning to normal, seeing ahead of him the life of a cripple.

"M'fine," Sweden repeated. His hands tightened into fists against the wood of the table, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Jus' a dream."


End file.
